Wrap Up
by Ecri
Summary: Episode tag to The Greatest Gift. How does everyone find out what happened to Pete?


**Wrap Up**

By Theresa Gauthier

**A short visit to the Warehouse 13 Episode "The Greatest Gift" and what should have happened. Takes place a few days after Pete screamed when "It's a Wonderful Life" started.**

Steve dropped off his luggage in his bedroom and decided on a quick stop in Leena's kitchen. It had been a long flight, the airports all still recovering from the effects of the snowstorm that had closed all of them for at least one night and many of them for much longer. It had taken him twice as long as it should have to get back to the B&B thanks to cancelled and rerouted flights and long layovers. Christmas was two days past, and Steve's last meal—a meal so disappointing he could hardly recall what it was—had been somewhere over D.C. many hours ago.

Yes, he thought, Leena must have hidden some leftovers for him. She had the foresight of a psychic and the culinary skills of any ten celebrity chefs combined.

Reaching the kitchen, he found the fridge door open and Pete rummaging around in there. "Hey, Pete," he called almost laughing at the comfortingly familiar sight.

Pete whirled around, eyes wide, a turkey leg in one hand and a slice of pumpkin pie in the other.

"Hey," Steve laughed, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no, it's cool," Pete said. "How was your Christmas?"

Together they began to pull dishes and containers from the fridge and, as they sat, Steve related tales of his trip. He kept a careful eye on Pete, not sure what was bugging him about the other man. Pete's laugh was long and slightly forced, and there was an overall wariness to his demeanor that seemed out of character. Pete Latimer was always a cheerful, happy guy. It took a lot to scare him, even in the unpredictable, indescribable world of artifact hunting and saving the world. What, Steve wondered, would make him so edgy?

Steve watched Pete gradually relax as they shared a plateful or Artie's oatmeal scotchies, and a turkey salad sandwich.

"So," Steve finally asked, somehow guessing the answer would be important. "How was your Christmas? Anything out of the ordinary happen at the Warehouse?"

A split second before Pete answered, Steve knew he was going to lie.

"Naw, you kidding? Not with me on the job! Smooth as clockwork! Nothing to worry ab…" Pete cut himself off, seeming to realize to whom he was lying. He cleared his throat. "Um…well, nothing I couldn't fix, anyway."

"Fix?" A loud voice called from the other room, and Pete and Steve turned to see Artie coming into the kitchen. "What has to be fixed? What exactly—exactly—did you touch?" He asked, his eyes squarely on Pete.

Steve turned to see how Pete would take the accusation and was surprised to see him squirming in his chair. His eyes had widened a little, and he'd seemed to freeze for a moment before replying. "Do…I…um…what…" Pete fumbled his denial for a few moments, then took a deep breath as though coming to a decision. He grabbed another oatmeal scotchie, and played with it as he spoke, tossing it from hand to hand or rolling it around in his palm. He told his story.

Pete launched into his story, keeping the cookie as sort of a distraction. His brain and mouth moved in accord, telling the details, but the cookie kept him from dipping too deeply into how it had all made him feel. He didn't want to feel that again, even if he believed that telling the tale would only bring back a pale reminder of the loneliness, isolation, frustration, and, yes, fear, that he'd felt (and he didn't believe that for a minute). He could barely look at Artie as he told the tale. When Artie had come into the kitchen demanding to know what…exactly…he had touched, it had sent him briefly back to the prison interrogation room. He was sitting next to a Myka at once so familiar and yet so…not his Myks…and across from an Artie hardened by three years in prison and yet, somehow, still his Artie, he'd almost crumbled inside.

"…so then I leaped over the fiery pit and caught the brush just as Other Artie dissolved in a caved in pile of dust. I woke up in the Christmas Aisle…"

"The Aisle of Noel…" Steve and Artie corrected him together, each sparing a brief glance to the other before focusing once more on Pete.

"Yeah, and Trailer and I took off back to the B&B…"

"Where we were all settling down to watch "It's a Wonderful Life," finished Artie, wincing slightly, and Pete knew he now understood the implication of Pete's Christmas Eve scream.

Pete sat back and snagged another cookie shoving it and the one he'd toyed with into his mouth at the same time. He wasn't sure where this would end, but it felt like a debriefing. He'd sat through enough of those to know a lot of what he'd said could easily end up entered into his personal file or into some Warehouse personnel log thingy…he didn't want to think about the impact either to his career or on the opinions of these people with whom he worked and whose opinions he'd grown to respect over the years. Even newbie, Steve, had quickly become one of the team one of the family, and the jibes he'd gotten after being a little "mushy" and declaring how much he loved them all on Christmas Eve, even—and he shuddered at the memory—hugging Mrs. Fredric, had hurt a bit. He'd meant it. He did think of them all as family, and he didn't want them to think he was incompetent, or that he had an overly high opinion of himself and of his importance to their lives. He'd gone over it and over it, but he couldn't see how his presence could have caused Myka's father to live longer, or to keep Artie out of prison. Mrs. Fredric would have done that, surely!

He sighed heavily and dared to raise his eyes, and, for the first time since beginning the story, looked at his coworkers.

Steve looked Pete over. He looked exhausted and more than a little stressed. This had been three days ago. Had no one noticed? He knew Myka had flown home on Christmas morning, and Mrs. Fredric had certainly left about the same time, but hadn't Leena, Artie and Claudia been home? The snow had cancelled their plans outright. Had they not spent any time together?

Steve glanced at Artie. Artie looked over at him, and seemed to understand what Steve was thinking, because he sighed and leaned across the table to look Pete in the eye. "Pete, it's unfortunate that it happened, but I'm glad you were able to fix it. You did a good job. You dealt with it all on your own…"

"He wasn't alone." Steve insisted. "He found his team. He found who he needed to find to fix the problem." He'd noticed that he'd been absent from the story, and wondered why. Surely if Pete had needed him, he'd have found a way to find him. He'd found Claudia in an institution, and Artie in a prison…

"Steve," Pete whispered, "I wanted to find you. I did, but you weren't on any government directory, and I was short on time."

Steve almost laughed. He was supposed to be the intuitive one, and Pete had read him like a book. "You were amazing, Pete. I don't know if I could have done what you did. I might have crumbled."

Pete shook his head. "Well, you wouldn't have handled it as brilliantly as I did, but I'm sure you'd have muddled through, somehow." He sobered quickly and held out the plate of cookies to Steve and Artie. "I don't want to have to tell this story again, Artie," he admitted, his eyes searching his boss's eyes for some sign that Artie understood.

Artie nodded. "I'll keep it off the record, for now, Pete, but I might have to add a truncated version of your misadventure at some point. Mrs. Fredric usually notices when something has happened in the Warehouse. I'm surprised she hasn't shown up asking questions…"

"She has," came a voice from behind them.

Steve's eyes widened as they all turned to find Mrs. Fredric had once again snuck up on them.

"How much of that did you hear," Pete whispered, a look on his face like that of an errant schoolboy.

"Enough, Mr. Latimer, to know that you should have told us all about it on Christmas Eve." She strode over to the table and selected a cookie from the plate Pete still held in his hand. "I understand your reluctance. That is a particularly difficult artifact to handle. You did admirably. I expect to hear no more about it."

Pete smiled and the three men shared a look of relief turning once again to find her gone. Steve looked around, though Pete and Artie seemed to take it in stride. "I'll never get used to that," Steve whispered.

"No," admitted Artie, "but you'll learn to accept it."

"Accept what?" Myka asked, entering the kitchen still wearing her snow-covered coat.

"Did you pass Mrs. Fredric on your way in?" Steve had to ask.

Myka laughed as she removed her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. "No, was she here?"

Pete looked away, and Steve glanced up at Myka. "Myka, Pete has something to tell you," Steve stood, and pushed back his chair, motioning for Artie to get up.

"No," Pete said, "I can't keep repeating it."

Steve heard the truth in the words, but then, he was fairly sure that everyone else in the room did, too. "Once more, Pete," Steve said softly. When Pete nodded, he excused himself to find Claudia and Leena. With the women all gathered on one side of the table, and, with Steve and Artie sitting on either side of him, Pete retold his tale for the last time.

When he'd finished, Myka leaned across the table and punched him in the arm.

"Hey! What was that for?" Pete asked, rubbing his arm.

"Why didn't you tell us all of this on Christmas Eve? We could have helped you! We could have done something…" She stopped because Pete was shaking his head.

"Myka, you were right. I was getting mushy. That's not me. I was shaken up and I was so giddy with relief…"

"Like Jimmy Stewart at the end of 'It's a Wonderful Life?'" She had a hint of a smile on her face.

"Yeah, I guess. I never really liked that movie."

This inspired a chorus of people extolling the virtues of the film. Before long the debate became a barely decipherable cacophony of voices, denials, assertions, and not a few Myka-punches to Pete's arm.

Steve sat back and watched as the cloud of unease that had clung to Pete when Steve had first arrived home finally seemed to lift and dissipate like mist in the morning sun. He only made a token comment on the film himself, siding with Pete against everyone else who seemed to defend the classic film more of a desire to keep the conversation going than for any real reason. He caught Artie's eye over Pete's head and smiled. Artie smiled back and stood moving swiftly to the cupboard where he pulled out a hidden cookie jar and set it in the midst of the table, replenishing the now depleted plate of oatmeal scotchies.

"It's good to be home," Steve whispered, and his words cut through the arguments silencing everyone for a moment. "That's the greatest gift."

The End


End file.
